


invisible

by extrasystem



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Being a teen is hard, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrasystem/pseuds/extrasystem
Summary: It hits you like a wave. You’re drowning under a flood of your pity and sorrow until a brown-eyed boy swims deep enough to help you find air, even if it’s temporary.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Tom Holland (Actor)/Peter Parker/Reader
Kudos: 41





	invisible

**Author's Note:**

> please be extra cautious if you get triggered by heavy references to mental illness, mainly depression. take care of yourself. (ps. only proofread this once so)

On most days, you feel alive. Those periods encompass the feeling of your heart bursting at the sight of your favourite character or the crushing ache in the back of your throat when you can’t find the strength to fight the tsunami at the edge of your eyes anymore. These are the days, weeks or months that you willingly acknowledge the rollercoaster of emotions that tread heavily throughout your body. And, despite it all, you have accepted that the human experience is one of elation and anguish. 

It is not easy, not at all.  


But you push through anyway because you are incredible. Intelligent. Resilient. Inspirational. Fragile. Sensitive. Loved. 

Though, today you feel nothing. Your mantra of uplifting characteristics that you possess looks like a collection of meaningless lines and dots that hold no meaning to a person who cannot fathom an existence past a bed riddled with plastic water bottles and granola bar wrappers. It is as if the anchor that used to tie your mind to this earthly world is slowly unravelling and you’re unsure if there’s a desire to prevent it. Even if you did, the numbness in your fingers would likely cause your arms to sink further into the mattress, away from the deep brew of hope. 

The ragged voice that echoes throughout Midtown indicates the end of the school day and forces your eyes to refocus on the smart board that list instructions for your upcoming lab. In turn, you clutch at the cramp near the centre of your chest while you pack your pencil case and notebooks into your backpack. You can do the pre-lab tomorrow before class begins in favour of quietly sulking as you make your way back home. 

A strained farewell leaves your chapped lips as you exit the classroom and into the crowded hallway that refuses to be silent despite your inner protests. People, including yourself, are shoved back and forth down the cramped corridor and your teeth are clamped tightly to stop the onset of frustrated tears that threaten to spill on your flustered cheeks. Then, the pointy edge of a paper structure loops around the horde of students you’ve found yourself attached to and smacks into the back of your head. 

You whip around immediately, searching fiercely for the perpetrator. Everyone else proceeds with their course of action and you’re left teary-eyed in the middle of a rowdy hallway. 

" _Hey! Watch where you’re going,_ " a freshman snarks, sharply knocking their shoulder with yours. You can barely hear their words when a blaring siren sits at the base of your skull and constantly rings in your ears. 

There, you decide, is when you have had enough. Your peers have been overwhelmingly obnoxious and the spill of your orange juice during lunch has propelled you into blue flames that lick aggressively at your stomach from the sheer thought. The words bubble ferociously on the tip of your tongue until it doesn’t. As fast your fire sparked, it is stomped out. The 14-year-old disappears into another crowd without another word. 

Defeatedly, the black sneakers that don your feet drag you to your locker where a tall boy with a concerned grin waits for your arrival; Peter, clad in pale green plaid and a graphic tee, holds the sweater and textbooks that were inside your locker. When you’re within reach, he holds the soft cotton out for you to shrug on as he unzips your backpack from behind to gently slip the weighted books inside.  


"Thank you," You murmur, a worn smile tugging at the corner of your lips when you turn around to face him again. 

An infinite pool of deep brown holds your own, tucking your stray hair back into place. 

"Of course," He replies. "'Don’t know what I’d do without you."

You hum pleasantly and intertwine your shaky hands together. Peter’s thumb brushes your knuckle to keep your fading tether to the ground, soothing the pressure that spreads across your torso. His eyes, although young and hopeful, have sweet crinkles that mark a decade of laughter and toothy grins; each faded line tells stories of the best parts of his short life and you can only hope you’ve found your way onto the etches of his skin. 

The brown-haired boy poses a question and nods toward the doors. In response, you grip his hand while you pace yourself towards the glass doors and walk past groups of students. It’s at least a half an hour commute to the tower and you’d like to be away from the draining institution as fast as possible. 

A majority of your trip passes as a blur while you blink at the flood of colours and lights that carefully fabricate the allure of New York City. The vibrant hues of commercial boards and the pictures that make up the video on Peter’s phone do little to stray your thoughts. It’s frustrating how badly you want to be _there,_ next to Peter on a crowded subway and laughing quietly at the two-year-old who refuses to drink their milk or the video of a kitten that chases a bird. Yet, it’s as though she’s watching herself from outside the train windows and her feeble attempts to halt her sad demeanour from infecting the unsuspecting victims around her are useless.

A gentle nudge her way startles her, pulling her back down and into the eyes of a boy with a heart too large for his chest. He quickly scans their surroundings before brushing a calloused hand over her forehead.  


"Are you okay?" Peter questions and flips his hand over to touch her forehead with the back of his hand. "It’s like… you haven’t been here today."  


He doesn’t mean it maliciously, you know that. But the hurricane of tears that hastily tread down your face indicates otherwise. Normally, you would be in a fit of giggles at the sudden alarm that passes over his face; though, today is an exception.   


Peter glances around you again and starts apologizing profusely. He’s wiping wet streaks off your reddened cheeks and pressing his lips to your hair until you shake your head vigorously.   


You play with the stray ends of your sleeves, croaking, "No, it’s not your fault; it’s just one of those days. Don’t be sorry."

Realization washes over his face, then replaced by furrowed brows and a sympathetic look in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything else, tucking you in to the warm nook of his arm and allowing you to hide your face behind his collared shirt. The rest of the trip goes by in blurs of sleep and temporary consciousness under Peter’s careful watch. A peck rests on the top of your head every once in a while and you gladly welcome the saccharine gesture that leaves your lower stomach in knots. 

He double-checks that you have everything in your possession before exiting the subway and leads you up the stairs, on to another street where a sleek car burns fuel in harmony with the other vehicles that sit on the curb. Peter opens the door for you, urging you to sit on leather seats and greet a stone-faced Happy. He trails your movements a short second after.

"How was school?" Happy inquires as he pulls away and follows the familiar path to your home. It might as well be Peter’s, too.

Your mouth opens to answer, though silence is the only thing that leaves your lips. 

Peter grabs your hand, stuttering, "It was good. Nothing exciting, though."  


Your father’s close friend calls your name for your response and you shrug. In the corner of your eye, you can see his curious gaze in the rearview mirror. The buildings that pass by outside are much more exciting, you decide.

The slow thrum of the radio stirs into calm background noise while the drive home lulls you back into a sleepy demeanour. Peter squeezes your hand and traces lazy circles on the soft skin, talking quietly with the man in the driver's seat. Both of their worried eyes watch you and you shrink further into your seat.

You wish you were better, if not for their sake.  


The place you call your home comes into view and you slip out of the confined space past the doors and through multiple hallways before you can climb up another set of stairs. Peter calls your name, trying to follow your quick steps like the shadows that lurk behind you. His footsteps echo up the stairs to find you stopped near the ledge of the rooftop that separates you both from the rough pavement hundreds of feet below. 

"I’m not going to jump, Peter," You tease, a melancholy tug of your lips upward graces your face as you turn to watch him join you. 

"I know."

The backpack that rested on your shoulders is tossed aside like Peter’s. You take a cautious step forward to the end of the tower and remove your shoes before falling into a seated position, swinging your feet off the ledge. He sits next to you, admiring the view of a New York City skyline. You both have done this a thousand times, maybe more. 

"If I fell," You start, the pace of your heart beating faster when you imagine plummeting downwards, "would you catch me?"

There are only a handful of moments where you’ve witnessed Peter speak with confidence and without hesitation. His answer is one of them, the same as it has always been when you’ve asked.

"Yes."  


Your line of sight moves from the bustling city to the boy to your right. He matches your gaze easily.   


"I— I’m not okay."

The confession leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and the edges of your eyes watery. Your vision blurs suddenly, gripping tightly to concrete that leaves ugly, red indents on your palms. A laboured breath struggles to escape your lungs and a clothed hand shoves itself against your lips. You find yourself apologizing for a reason you’re unsure of.  


Peter budges closer to hold you into another embrace. 

"Stop being sorry for feeling… _feelings_." 

A hearty laugh pushes its way past your sore throat and into the first breath of air since you’ve woken up. Peter’s airy chuckle joins you and, instantly, the cloud that sits on your chest feels lighter. 

"Thank you, for the words of wisdom, Peter," You retort, bleary-eyed. The first genuine grin forces itself on your face and you have a clumsy, brown-haired boy to thank. You do so by pushing on your palms to nudge a swift peck on his pink lips.   


If the sun disappeared, Peter would replace the flaming star with ease when a beam forms on his face, surely making the sides of his cheeks ache. 

"You’re welcome," He says, smiling around your name that escapes his mouth. "But seriously, do you want to talk about today? What happened?"

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips. "I don’t know. I just woke up today and felt… nothing. Except for, like, a pressure on my chest. All I’ve wanted today is for the world to stop. For a second, until I can gather myself."

You pause and your face scrunches in concentration to find words to describe a wordless feeling. 

" _I was invisible._ " _  
_

Silence passes for a minute.   


Peter’s right-hand pulls your hood over your head and brushes stray hair away until he’s satisfied. His hand stays, coddling your damp cheek.   


"I know you hate it when I say sorry, but I am. You deserve to see life through rose-coloured glasses and experience it with people who leave your stomach sore from laughing," He mutters, his tender eyes holding a sense of determination. "And I want to be that person, for you. Tony and Pepper, too. I want you to know that life _will_ get better because you’ve already done that for me."  


Familiar streaks of hot liquid pour from your eyes, though for a different reason. Your Peter, stupidly brave and brilliant, is the sherpa blanket you left on your bed that you have been longing for all day. He is the peppermint tea to your favourite book and candle combination.   


You nod, understanding his kind words and the sudden realization that the boy you’ve known for less than a year has found his way into your family and the empty place in your burdened heart.   


"Thank you, Pete."

He nods and leaves a delicate kiss on your nose before turning back to the city in your mess of an embrace. You both watch as the sun lowers and rush hour begins and ends. During that time, a sandwich is split between you two and a water bottle is passed. 

You don’t know what you would do without him. So, you tell him.   


The sun is warm on his chiselled profile, similar to the cheeky smile that he wears. 

"You? What about me? I _need_ you," Peter dotes. 

You laugh bewilderedly. In all of New York, you’re not sure if there’s anywhere you’d rather be than on top of a building with a boy who sleeps too little and wears cheesy science puns that make your nose scrunch.  


The next day, you trudge through the dirt because you are incredible. Intelligent. Resilient. Inspirational. Fragile. Sensitive. Loved.   


Needed.

**Author's Note:**

> i think im shadowbanned on t*mblr and my post is /actually/ invisible. rip.


End file.
